


Melting Hearts

by RedPen77



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, And I lost my chance to do a christmassy fic, Basically: it's winter, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Ice Skating, Light Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, enjoy The Bois, so this is what I came up with instead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28398858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedPen77/pseuds/RedPen77
Summary: He was beautiful. Graceful. A master on the ice as if he were a creature borne of it: skates flashing; hair flying; he moved as if he were not human but thing. An unearthly, fluid-moving thing. Alfred could only lean against the handrail and stare, absolutely mesmerised.Kiku Honda. Talent was simply not the word for him.
Relationships: America/Japan (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	1. Breaking the Ice

He was beautiful. Graceful. A master on the ice as if he were a creature borne of it: skates flashing; hair flying; he moved as if he were not human but  _ thing.  _ An unearthly, fluid-moving  _ thing _ . Alfred could only lean against the handrail and stare, absolutely mesmerised. 

Kiku Honda. Talent was simply not the word for him. 

Alfred could only  _ wish  _ to be as great, as -- as  _ amazing  _ as he. This would be his second time trying for the World Grand Prix. Well, if you even counted his first time. Alfred never got to even skate in front of that waiting audience  _ once,  _ not after he sprained his ankle the day before while training, taking him out of the running last minute and delaying the event as they scrambled to fly in the next lucky skater. He sighed, as he watched Kiku perform a perfect triple toe loop. The toe loops were the easiest of the jumps in figure skating, Alfred hadn’t messed it up in  _ years…  _ Until last minute nerves shot him point blank and sprained his stupid ankle. 

Well,  _ whatever.  _ Past was past, and he was getting his chance now. Alfred brought his water bottle to his lips--

“ _ Alfred!” _

He nearly spat it out all over the ice rink. Fortunately Alfred had lightning fast reflexes and sprayed it all over his new black shoes instead. He stared at them in despair. Now his toes were cold. 

“Alfred!” Arthur snapped at him again. “What are you  _ doing _ here?”

“Uhh--” Alfred grinned sheepishly. “... Checking out the competition?”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “And where are you  _ meant  _ to be?”

He sighed. “... Warming up.”

Once upon a time, Arthur had been the star of the silver ice rink. Alfred had seen enough of his old videos to believe it: all of his axel jumps clean as a whistle, his themes clearly displayed on his face -- in fact the only time Alfred ever saw the old sardonic as saccharine was when he performed. Plus Arthur had medals upon medals to boot. After his showdays he moved from England to the States, where he’d picked up Alfred as his new protege. His previous had won three gold medals before retiring early. Alfred was sure Arthur expected just as much from him as his old student. It was… pressuring. 

“Exactly. If you don’t warm up off the rink how can you expect to be good on it? You’ve only got an hour and a half before you have to slot out. And you  _ still  _ haven’t come up with your second half for the free skate,” nagged Arthur, dragging him away. “Let alone  _ practice  _ it.”

Alfred looked mournfully back at the graceful Kiku Honda. Then he sighed, and resigned himself to his warm-up. To be perfectly honest, after all the travel on a cramped plane from Florida to Canada, he couldn’t  _ wait  _ to get back out on the ice. 

_ Freedom.  _ That was his theme for the programs. Alfred enjoyed his freedom. No, he loved it. And he loved skating -- travelling all over to perform his pieces. It was  _ liberating.  _ Especially after his parents had been less-than-enthusiastic about his career, because he was blowing off college to pursue it. But now he was free of them, free of college -- he could do anything he wanted, so long as he kept skating. That’s what it felt like, anyway. 

The short programme was the easy one. It was his depiction of being free and liberated and new. Alfred enjoyed the emotion of it. But he needed something slightly different for his second programme, something within freedom, and until he found that, his second programme would never be good enough for the World Grand Prix. 

Alfred had little more than two weeks to find it. Next next Thursday he would be performing to earn his spot in the Final. So he put on his crystal-clean ice skates, and hoped that the new rink would inspire him. 

“Finally,” sniffed Arthur, as he emerged. “Come on. I want that second half finished  _ today,  _ so we have the two weeks to practice.”

Two weeks wasn’t really enough to practice. Still, Alfred supposed it was his own fault. He was the idiot that left it so late. 

He had hoped to catch the tail end of Kiku Honda’s practice as he made his way back to the rink. Hell, maybe even get a chance to talk to him. Alfred was bitterly disappointed to find he’d gone already, leaving only his tracks in the ice. 

“Get yourself out there and do a couple laps. Get used to the environment here,” instructed Arthur. Alfred snorted. Get used to the  _ environment?  _ He’d skated all over the States, and won silver in the US Championship at seventeen! He was used to changing environments. 

The moment he stepped out onto the ice Alfred felt better. The rhythmic, gliding sensation calmed him down about the competition and reminded him of his capabilities. Having stretched just before, Alfred performed a simple toe loop, and then because he felt like it, a double toe loop right after. Both of them were flawless. 

“I’ll put on the music,” Arthur called across, “do your first programme, then we’ll get cracking on finishing the second.”

In response, Alfred grinned and flashed him a thumbs-up. 

The music started slowly, but before long sped up. Alfred loved the songs he picked out: fierce, fast-paced, dramatic.  _ Freeing.  _ He skated in perfect unison to the music, so geared up that even his triple axel into a salchow was nearly perfect, only a hint of a wobble. That was the jump he messed up the most. Yet it wasn’t really the jumps that were his weak points. Alfred had stamina, but very little flexibility, that made the different contorting spins difficult. Arthur shouted across tips, but Alfred was barely listening. When the music ended, he was breathing hard, but flushed and proud. 

“Did you see that?!” He shouted at Arthur. “ _ Perfect  _ salchow!”   


“Not quite  _ ‘perfect _ ’... But it was good,” his coach conceded, “you need to mind your spins though. You were far too stiff.”

“Looser than normal,” Alfred pointed out. 

“I’m putting on your second track. We  _ have  _ to choreograph this today, because if you won’t,  _ I  _ will,” threatened Arthur. Alfred didn’t bother pointing out that Arthur choreographing his music would lose him that ‘free’ element. He had been threatening this for weeks now and they’d only got the first half. It wasn’t that Arthur was a  _ bad  _ choreographer… It was just that Alfred wanted his work to be  _ his.  _

He got into the starting position. It was all wrong. Alfred flunked his combination spin and nearly span out into the wall _.  _ Then he fell right over on his axel jump, and went flying across the ice. 

And the practice only went downhill from there. 

“Looser,  _ looser!”  _ Arthur kept shouting. “Did you even warm up properly? Less power, more  _ poise,  _ you idiot--”

“I’m  _ sorry _ !” Alfred snapped, as he flaked out on a spin again. They had attempted to choreograph the second half, but it was loose, and Alfred wasn’t passionate at all. “I just -- I wasn’t built for this kind of thing--”

“You think the judges will care about that?” Arthur asked impatiently. “Again from the top.”

God, this was embarrassing. Alfred’s face was red and sweaty from practice. He was trying for the World Grand Prix and  _ this  _ was all he could show for. Maybe he had a semi-decent short programme but the free skate was  _ disgraceful _ . By the time his hour and a half was up, Alfred was downright miserable. 

“Maybe I should just fake an injury and back out like last year,” he said, bitterly cast down as he glided towards the edge. “I’m not ready.”

“Hey now,” Arthur’s face softened slightly. “Come on. You’ve got a good short programme. A  _ winning  _ short programme, so long as you stay loose and don’t mess up your salchow.”

“Like  _ that’s  _ gonna happen under pressure from everyone.” Alfred sighed. 

“I’ll choreograph your free skate tonight. I’ll try and come up with something you like.”

“You just don’t get it, Arthur,” muttered Alfred, “ _ I  _ have to come up with it. Otherwise I can’t skate it right.”

“I’ll try anyway,” he replied. 

He left the rink feeling less confident than he’d ever done in his life. Alfred removed his skates and did his cool down exercises, a heavy feeling in his heart. He reckoned he must be the only other skater to leave his choreography  _ this  _ late. If inspiration wasn’t striking now, then when? What if he got to the competition and Arthur’s uninspiring piece was all he had to show for it? 

He would be a  _ laughingstock.  _

“Ah, Alfred!”

Alfred jumped. Jeez, what was  _ with  _ people and sneaking up behind him?! Then he saw an irritatingly familiar figure behind him. He scowled. 

“... Hello Ivan.”

Ivan smiled at him coyly. “And hello to you! You sure looked like you were struggling out there today, are you sure you’re going to be okay for the big event?”

“I’m sure,” he damn near spat. 

“That is good to hear!” Ivan smiled at him. “But don’t practice too hard! We all remember what happened last year, huehuehuehuehue….”

Alfred clenched his fists. But before he could sock one to the smug Russian bastard, a calming hand reached his shoulder. 

“Not worth it, Alfred,” Arthur told him, “we’re leaving now.”

It felt like Ivan had won that exchange. He probably had. Alfred liked to think he was on friendly terms with the skaters, but not him. Not that bastard. Not after what Ivan had done last year. 

Usually he cooled off anger on the ice rink. Now with slots that wasn’t an option, and it was infuriating walking past the rink while Ivan skated, and did a perfect quad in front of him.  _ Show off.  _ Alfred glared. Ivan was doing it on purpose to wind him up but that didn’t make him feel any better after the practice he’d just had. Normally ice skating made him feel  _ better.  _ Now… 

He put his earphones in and began to walk. 

The hotel was a short distance from the rink. Music wasn’t really necessary for a walk that brief but it helped calm him down. It was late, the skies dark, the city lit up in streetlights. Alfred liked Toronto, and even in October it had begun to snow. 

Hotel was nice too. Grand and fancy, since the competition could afford to keep their skaters in luxury. There was a fountain in the front lobby and a crystal chandelier, and all the staff wore special purple suits. Arthur and Alfred had their own suites, complete with a balcony. It was nice. Strange, to be treated so richly, but nice. No competition he’d been in before had ever splashed out in places so fancy. They stepped into the glass elevator and shot upwards. 

“Take a bath. Relax your stiffness for practice tomorrow,” said Arthur, poking him. Alfred was barely listening. 

All the skaters slept on the same floor. Only five were competing for the Cup of Canada, which would then determine who would go on to the Final. There was Antonio from Spain, a nice guy and the oldest of the skaters here at twenty-four. There was Lukas from Norway, a reclusive teenager and the youngest at sixteen. There was Ivan… Alfred’s face darkened remembering him. And then Kiku Honda. Eighteen years old, entering this competition for the third time now in hopes for gold. Alfred was stunned that he hadn’t won it before. 

… And him. Alfred F. Jones. A failure of the Grand Prix before, and a  _ still _ a failure now. Alfred removed his earphones and stared around his messy hotel room glumly. Everyone here had something  _ unique  _ to them. He was just… the other guy. 

He couldn’t relax. Not when he took his bath, not even when he watched replays of his old skating competitions. He chomped down on his meal (he didn’t remember ordering anything but likely Arthur had for him, knowing he’d forget), then wished he had more, just to fill up the void that seemed to be opening up in his stomach. As the clock ticked onwards, Alfred resigned himself to staring up at the ceiling, listening to his music… Thinking. 

He still didn’t feel better. 

Of course, normally when he felt like this, he went to the ice rink and skated. His family  _ owned  _ the rink back home in Florida, so he could pop in and out anytime. Here was different… 

… Or was it? 

Alfred sat up, peering out the window. Most centres and shopping malls had closed by now, but weirdly… The ice rink was still lit up. That meant it was still open, right?? And if no one had booked a slot--

He grabbed his jacket and raced out the door. 

It sounded like no one else was up. He hoped he didn’t awake anyone on his quest to get to the elevator, pressing the ground floor button multiple times in case that made the door shut faster. Alfred checked the time and balked.  _ Eleven o’clock.  _ Already?! There was no  _ way  _ the rink would be open -- but he still had to try. 

“Are you guys still open??” He shouted to the poor person behind the counter. She looked annoyed and unimpressed. 

“I dunno. You one of those Cup of Canada people?” She asked. Alfred nodded, and she pointed to the locker room. “Go right ahead. We’re open all hours for you guys,  _ apparently…” _

Alfred  _ beamed.  _

It was a damn good thing they left their warm up kit and skates in the locker room or Alfred would have cursed himself for coming to the rink so unprepared. In no time at all he was in his gym leggings and shirt, and was strapping into his skates… When he stopped. 

That music… was  _ not  _ coming from his phone. 

Alfred stopped the music and took out his earphones. No, that was nothing like he listened to. This music was wintry, beautiful… Like he was under a spell (and forgetting to tie his laces), Alfred stood, and followed the music. It led to the ice rink. No… it led to someone else. It led to Kiku. 

He was practicing on the ice rink. His routine, his  _ form,  _ they were absolutely beautiful. Alfred tried to count how many times he rotated, then lost track and got dizzy for him, even as a fellow ice skater!  _ So  _ graceful,  _ inhuman…  _ Alfred watched him triple toe loop into an axel jump and as Kiku wobbled slightly, held his breath and  _ willed  _ him to stay upright. His hand touched the ice but he got back up and went into a combination spin, as if he hadn’t messed up at all, as if it had been his plan all along. Hands reaching, toes pointed, flexible and fluid, Kiku was everything he was not, everything he wished he could be. Alfred forgot he was in the room. He forgot everything in fact. His eyes were fixed on the creature in front of him. 

Then the music slowed down, and Kiku spun to a halt, perfectly on-beat to the music. 

And Alfred began to clap. 

“ _ Whoohoo!”  _ He shouted across, breaking the spell they both seemed to be under. “Dude, that was  _ amazing!” _

Kiku looked up. He saw Alfred’s beaming smile, heard his claps echoing around the otherwise deserted hall... and went bright pink in embarrassment. He broke form at once to bow his head, hands neatly clasped together. 

“I-- I’m so sorry, I -- I had no idea you were in here!” He stammered out. “I -- I can leave--”

“No, no -- it was  _ cool,”  _ Alfred insisted _.  _ He was acutely aware of how loud his voice was. “I love that combination spin you did, and -- and how you move, man, it’s almost like you’re not even a human anymore-- uhh, sorry if that’s weird--” He was babbling now, awkwardly. “And, uhh, I only came here to clear my head, if you’re doings serious practice-stuff I can leave myself--”

“No! I -- I mean…” he coughed, “no… that’s quite alright. You can stay.”

Alfred brightened. “Really?”

“You probably need the practice rink more.” Kiku suddenly covered his mouth. “Oh my God, I didn’t mean it like that--”

“No, no, it’s totally cool! To be honest, you’re right, I -- I don’t think I’m nearly as good as you.” He scratched the back of his head. That didn’t come off as self-pitying and pathetic did it? “I’m too stiff. You’re, like, the total opposite.”

Kiku blushed again. “... Thank you.”

“Coach is always nagging at me to loosen up, you know?” Alfred laughed. “Well… I guess you wouldn’t since you don’t have that problem.”

“I used to.” To his surprise -- and utter delight -- Kiku skated to the handrail to be closer to Alfred as they talked. Kiku was short. Shorter than he expected, anyway. How many interactions had they actually  _ had?  _ None? Alfred was surprised. He’d been passively admiring Kiku’s ability since last year’s Grand Prix. “I took a lot of ballet classes to remedy that. I…” He smiled. It was rather shy. “I appreciate that comment about me looking not human, though.”

“Really?” Alfred asked. “I thought you’d be offended.”

“Not at all! My theme is “inhuman”. It’s what I’ve been going for. Thank you…” he paused, “Alfred Jones, right?”

_ He remembered my name!  _ …  _ Well duh, idiot, he has to know his competition.  _ Alfred coughed. 

“Y-Yeah, that’s me! And you’re Kiku, right? I mean that’s how I pronounce it, right?” He paused. “What were you even doing here so late anyway? I mean, I know I’m here, but…”

Kiku went pink. “They didn’t say it wasn’t allowed!” He said quickly, as if it were a crime to be here. “I just… I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t do very well in practice today. My coach, Yao, kept yelling at me because I was mistiming and messing up the jumps…”

“No way, I didn’t see you miss  _ one!”  _ Alfred protested. Then it was his turn to go red. “Not that I was watching you to be creepy or anything! It was my turn next and I got there early to get into gear and stuff…”

“You can’t have been watching closely enough,” sighed Kiku, “Yao says it’s my stamina. My first half is good, but then I get sloppy and mistime and my legs aren’t strong enough to do the ending jumps. But if I  _ don’t  _ put my jumps there I have no chance of winning gold. That and, well, I’ve never been that good at jumps anyway…”

That’s right. Jumps were worth more in the second half. Alfred cast his mind back. Kiku had been doing the Grand Prix since he was sixteen, right? He won bronze then, and silver at seventeen. Now in his third year, everyone was expecting gold. 

… He really hoped Kiku didn’t remember his humiliating fail last year. 

“I still think you’ve got a good shot,” he said, “but I guess if I want to be  _ really  _ sure…”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“You need to show me your performance again! Second half, ‘cause that’s longer,” he said earnestly. Kiku sighed, but he was smiling. 

“Weren’t you watching me just now? And -- and I’m all out of breath, I won’t do it right!”

“C’mon,  _ please?  _ I’ll show you mine right after!” He grasped the handrails, pleading. “And won’t it give you practice?”

“... I… suppose,” Kiku agreed, and only semi-reluctantly. “Only if you start the music.”

“Can do!”   


He was in such a rush to get there before Kiku changed his mind that he forgot his laces were still untied, and nearly went head over heels into a speaker. Fortunately Alfred had lightning-fast reflexes and fell over before then. Damn.  _ Embarrassing.  _

“Are you alright?” Kiku called over. He was already in starting position. Perfect form. Alfred jumped up, hastily brushing himself off. 

“Fine, fine! I’ll, er -- I’ll start the music!” … God, Kiku must think he was such a mess. 

His phone rested on top of the speaker with a plug-in attached. Alfred hit play, and the sparkly tune started back up. Then, his eyes were riveted on Kiku. 

Alfred went into this knowing the performance wasn’t going to be perfect. He knew this, but he was still in absolute awe.  _ Four  _ quads! Granted he wobbled one and his hand touched the ice for the last, but even so,  _ four  _ quads! And his body as lithe and supple as ever -- in fact more so, like he was putty and some invisible hands were moulding him into different shapes and  _ creatures.  _ His expression was concentrated but his limbs seemed to be detached from reality, moving fluidly -- previously Alfred had only caught snatches of what Kiku could do. Now he was showing off his whole performance to his audience of one, and it was…  _ ethereal.  _

Clearly well-practiced. He guiltily squirmed in place. He… didn’t have much time to practice his own piece. 

By the time Kiku had finished he was breathing hard and his cheeks were pink, yet Alfred still clapped as hard as if Evgeni Plushenko had just performed. He even wolf-whistled, and it echoed magnificently around the rink. 

“Amazing! That’d rank into the hundreds,” he lamented, “you were  _ so  _ good.”

“I messed up all my end jumps,” Kiku said -- but he looked pleased nonetheless. He glided over to the handrail again and gestured out. “Okay, now your turn. Show me what you’ve done.”

“M-Me? Oh yeah…” He laughed, but it was uneasy now. Alfred compared his programme to Kiku’s in his head. They didn’t match up in the slightest. 

He went out onto the ice and into his start position, waiting for the music to begin. Now, Alfred had performed plenty of times before, usually in front of full stadiums, and even went on tour around the States competing. Nerves were not a stranger to him. But somehow, the nerves of skating in front of a crowd of hundreds, were not nearly as overwhelming as skating in front of  _ one _ Kiku Honda. One brilliant Kiku Honda…

But it was too late now; the music had started. Alfred shook off his nerves as best he could, taking a deep breath. Begin…  _ now.  _

He took the first step. Then the next. Then his first jump came up -- a triple toe loop -- and Alfred landed it perfectly. It was like he had been holding in a breath he didn’t know he had. And with that one jump cleared, all the rest became easy. He fell into the role. 

And then it was over. 

Alfred blinked.  _ Huh?  _ Over already? He’d only just begun! He heard clapping from the sidelines, and turned to see Kiku, sitting on the handrail with his legs swinging, clapping and clapping and -- he looked actually  _ impressed! _

He  _ impressed  _ Kiku Honda!

Alfred was so exhilarated he felt he had to take a bow. Then he skated over and looked at him in earnest.

“So? What d’you think?” “I think… It’s amazing!” Kiku said. There wasn’t a trace of a lie in his voice. “I felt -- I felt like I could really  _ feel  _ your passion. And those jumps at the end, and the salchow, it -- it reminded me of a bird, flying through the air without a care in the world.”

“That’s what I was going for!” Alfred exclaimed excitedly. “My theme was “freedom”, and I’ve kinda based it all around how I’ve felt skating the past couple of years…”

“It was truly spectacular. I couldn’t pull off that many jumps in a row. Especially a salchow…”

“It’s easy. Hey, wait!” Alfred’s eyes lit up. “I have an idea!”

Kiku looked… actually interested. “Oh?”

“If you teach me how to be flexible, I’ll get your stamina up so you can do more jumps for a higher score,” he proposed, “and it’ll be in time for the Cup of Canada too!”

“You… think we should work together?” He blinked. “Aren’t we competing against each other?”

“We’re both getting something we want out of it though. I trust you won’t sabotage me.” Alfred paused. “If you really don’t wanna, that’s fine, I just thought--”

“No! I -- I want to.” Kiku smiled. “... I do.”

“So it’s a deal?” Alfred stuck his hand out. Kiku reciprocated -- and they shook. 

“It’s a deal,” agreed Kiku, “and one I’ll hold you to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah i watched yuri on ice what of it
> 
> Seriously though, I don't know anything about ice skating, so feel free to critique me in the comments. I also don't have a publishing schedule, any real research capabilities, or an assurance that I'll even finish this. 
> 
> I guess we'll find out together.


	2. Baked Bao Buns and Hot Green Tea

Alfred woke up early the next morning in the coldest hours of dawn, dressed himself in his running gear, laced up his sneakers, and tucked his phone and headphones away in his pocket for motivation. Then he flung open the door, pumped up and energetic -- ready to start the day. 

And his day was going to start… with Kiku Honda!

“Kiku?” Alfred rapped on his door heavily. “Heya, Kiku? Come on, come out, we have to begin the day!”

He hesitated a fraction of a second before the door opened (this wasn’t too forward, right??), and a bleary-eyed Kiku Honda came to greet him at the door, still in his pyjamas, clutching a cat pillow plush, his hair fluffed around his head like a dandelion clock, which was all very cute. He looked very confused to see his fellow competitor at his door, _especially_ so early in the morning. Well, it was too late to stop now. Alfred felt wide-awake and excited, as if he’d downed several vats of coffee. 

“... Hi,” continued Alfred relentlessly, “remember me? We met last night at the rink?”

“Yes, I remember you...” Kiku rubbed an eye and yawned. “But what are you doing here? Why so… _early…?”_

“I’m making good on our deal!” Alfred grinned. “Look, I already made us a jogging playlist on Spotify, plus a completely _different_ playlist for running to -- and one for skating! I didn’t really know what you liked, so I just filled it with a bunch of my stuff, feel free to change anything…”

“Okay…” He said slowly, as if trying to wrap his head around everything. “And… why does this need to be done so early?”

“So we can feel refreshed to take on the day, duh!” He said, smacking the doorframe. “Now c’mon, get dressed, we’re going for a _run!”_ _  
_

Kiku took a while to get ready. Alfred used that time to dash back into his place and rummage a snack. A plain croissant would do, right? It was all he had in the bread-bin ( _why_ he didn’t know), but hopefully it would suffice for the calories for now. Alfred got back as Kiku emerged, in a white and red tracksuit, his hair now wetted down and instead of holding a cat plush, his phone and earphones. 

“I’ve never heard of most of these songs,” he admitted, and Alfred could see he was on the playlist. “I don’t listen to much music in English.”

“They’re pretty generic pop and rock songs,” said Alfred sheepishly, “but they get me fired up, y’know? D’you want a croissant?”

“Huh? -- Oh… thank you.”

“Okay!” Alfred spun around on his heel. “Let’s go!”

He led him down the elevator and out into the cold morning sunshine. Hardly anybody was out -- at least in comparison to the much busier times of noon and late afternoon -- which was why Alfred had gotten up so early in the first place. He turned an immediate left… and Kiku looked at him in even deeper confusion. 

“Um, Alfred?” He said. “The gym is the other way.”

“We’re not going to the gym!” Alfred called. “C’mon! We wanna be early to beat the crowd.”

“... Where are we going?” Kiku asked blankly, jogging to catch up. “Won’t we be cold out here?”

“Not when we start running. Trust me, you warm up pretty quick,” he replied, “and anyway… I, uh… I don’t really like the gym. Feels too sweaty, ya know? I like exercising in the fresh open air, really gets the blood pumping.”

He turned a corner. Kiku could finally see where they were headed. 

“The _beach?”_ He asked dubiously. 

“Yeah!” Alfred laughed. “I didn’t live near a beach back home. Feels super cool to get to see one all the time now. If I get stressed, I just look at the sea. I’ll show you the stretch I use to run. I would run on the actual beach, but it’s snowy and it’s probably safer to use the gritty sidewalks. We’ll start with a forty-minute run, and then--”

“ _Forty minutes?!”_ Kiku squeaked. “F-Forty? I don’t even do _twenty…”_

“Cool! So we’re _doubling_ what you usually do!” Alfred said, undeterred. 

“I can’t do forty minutes of running! I’ll -- I’ll faint!”

“It won’t be just _straight running._ We’ll do a slow jog, move up into a fast jog, and then sprint before coming back down. I’ve got the route all planned out, you’ll see!”

“But…” Kiku began, weakly. Alfred turned to face him. 

“Listen, you’re never gonna get your strength up if you stay in your comfort zone. Don’t you wanna see just how far you can run?”

They got to the railing separating them from the beach. The tide was in, lapping itself close but beginning to recede away. Kiku gave a defeated sigh, and then, a tiny smile. 

“... Okay. I can do this… right?”

“Sure you can! Okay -- earphones in, this’ll help with motivation and enthusiasm, because I feel like you kinda need both of those right now…”

Alfred grinned at him before the sound of _Counting Stars_ by OneRepublic drowned everything else out. He wanted to start jogging to the beat, but forced a slow pace for the first ten minutes. Then he began to pick it up. Kiku began looking noticeably tired now, but still determinedly kept pace. Then Alfred broke into a run. 

Finally released of his extra energy, Alfred felt _good!_ He let out a short, exhilarated laugh -- here he was, running, _training,_ with none other than Kiku Honda--!

… Wait.

Was he?

Alfred slowed to a stop. Kiku was no longer following him. He’d collapsed on a park bench a little way aways, red-faced, sweaty, and tired. 

“... Hey are you... okay?” He asked, jogging up to him. He looked even more winded up close, and could hardly shake his head. 

“Can’t… Too... tired…”

Alfred checked his FitBit. According to it, they’d been running for nearly thirty minutes. He grinned. 

“Whoa, you did... really well!” 

“I didn’t…” Kiku gasped, “I didn’t make… forty minutes…”

“So? You pu-ushed yourself! You -- you got yourself out of your comfort zone!” Alfred chuckled breathlessly. “Even _I’m_ tired, let alone you! And anyway… I didn’t really expect you to do the whole thing.”

“ _What?!”_ He looked up. “Then -- Then why tell me to do it?! I thought… I thought I failed you… I thought…”

“Not at all!” He joined him on the bench and pulled his earphones out of his ears. “It’s the fact you tried to… that counts. That’s what old Arthur always says anyway… You know, my coach… I mean, the first step to being good at something is sucking at it, right?”

“That’s not how I learned it.” Kiku shook his head. “Being bad… It doesn’t always lead to you being good. More often, it just leads to failure.”

“Well -- then how did you learn ice skating?” asked Alfred. “You can’t have _always_ been a skating pro.”

“That was…” He paused for a second, contemplating. “... The thing is, I was never really “bad” at ice skating. My parents took me to the rink when I was _really_ young. Four or so. And you know, at that age, parents are always signing you up for things, hoping you’ll develop an early talent to practice… Like dance, or violin, or sports. They saw I could balance well, signed me up for classes… the teachers saw I had some “natural talents” and pushed me… I was always ahead of the others… so, I was never really “bad”. I just hadn’t learned yet.” Kiku hesitated. “Does that sound arrogant to say?”

“No! I mean, if you told me you could do a sao cao by seven I wouldn’t have believed you… But that makes sense,” replied Alfred quickly, “I just wish I could say the same. The amount of times I fell on my ass as a kid just trying to keep up with my parents… We owned a skating rink in Florida, so I guess even though I sucked at first, I was able to pick it up. Skating has never really been _out_ of my life.”

Kiku nodded slowly. “... So you were able to observe a lot more.”

“Yeah! I guess I was!” 

… It was odd. Alfred probably would have _never_ told one of the other skaters he wasn’t exactly a pro as a kid. They all probably came from religiously skater backgrounds, and like Kiku, had picked it up at a young age, found their passion and took hold of it. But for some reason… Kiku was different. It wasn’t embarrassing at all, however much he admired him. 

Eventually the silence began to stretch too long. Alfred stood up. 

“... Brr, it sure is cold out,” he said, “what say we finish our run, huh?”

“No, I’m done with running for today,” Kiku replied, firmly. “I think… I should find some breakfast. No offense, but a croissant isn’t really enough.”

“Huh? Oh, right…” 

“And anyway… I haven’t started helping you, yet,” said Kiku, as he also stood up. “So I’ll help you a little now. I know a place here that will help you with your fitness in flexibility.”

“What do you mean?” Alfred screwed up his face, which made Kiku smile. 

“Follow me.”

The place Kiku was talking about turned out to be an authentic Chinese restaurant just around the corner. Alfred had only ever seen the cheapish and gaudy Americanised ones before -- at least, that was all he really ate from -- so the plain orange brick with a couple of well-polished windows came as a surprise. Since it was so early in the morning, it had only just opened its doors, and only a few people were seated at the tables. Kiku and Alfred got a window seat too, so they could watch the people coming and going outside at their leisure. 

“I thought you were Japanese?” Alfred asked, glancing around the place. Kiku nodded. 

“Oh, I am, but my instructor is Chinese, and he knows everything and anything about this kind of stuff,” he replied, “what kind of foods to eat to bring up strength, or diet well, or even… improve flexibility.”

“Whoa… Really?”

“Mmhm. And with special green tea at the end of the meal, you’ll feel refreshed for what I can teach you.”

Kiku was so _smart._ Alfred knew proteins helped with strength and carbs were for bulk, but usually Arthur was the one choreographing his meals and forbidding snacks and organising the diet. They pored over the menu and selected carefully -- pan fried fish for Alfred, and for Kiku…

He sighed, “I used to love baked bao buns. My mother would make them as a special treat if I won a competition. They’re not hard to make but they were special.”

“Why don’t you have some then?” Alfred asked. Kiku looked alarmed. 

“I couldn’t. _Especially_ only two weeks before the Cup. My instructor would have a fit. They’re not exactly great for keeping myself lithe and flexible, and they’re my strongest assets.”

“ _One meal_ wouldn’t hurt,” argued Alfred, looking at its description. _Fatty lamb cubes and carrot enveloped in unleavened dough into a pillow shape and baked in a tandoori oven._ His mouth watered at the thought. 

If it was one thing Alfred _didn’t_ miss about becoming Arthur’s protege, it was the strict regulation of food. Before he could fill up and eat whatever he liked, with frequent snacks between then. Now, as he was technically an athlete, he had to eat like one to keep himself in shape. _Especially_ going up against other professionals that probably stuck to their diets very well. 

Kiku was still looking longingly at the buns and hadn’t yet ordered. 

“Go on,” he nudged, “you’ve still got plenty of time to burn it off. Anyway, you went out of your comfort zone today -- you deserve a treat.”

That was enough to make him cave. 

Alfred had never had a stranger and more delightful breakfast. Chowing down on delicious pan-fried fish with his yearlong _idol_ opposite, both of them idly chatting about ice skating and the other competitors. Brilliantly, when Alfred admitted he didn’t like Ivan all that much (for unspecific reasons), Kiku admitted to the same. 

“He… I don’t know. Maybe it’s the height difference, but I’m always so _intimidated_ by him,” he said nervously, “He means well in the things he says, but I can’t help but feel like he’s being disingenuous…”

“Yeah me too! He’s like, as nice as Antonio _technically_ but he’s so _threatening…”_ Alfred grimaced. “And I have no idea what to make of Lukas.”

“I think it’s nerves. I know I was too shy to speak to the others at his age,” replied Kiku, blushing slightly. “I just felt so small and out of place. Plus I was competing against a big Turkish man. We became friends, but working up the courage to ask him to pass me my water bottle…”

“Pshh, what did you have to be afraid of -- you got a bronze medal!”

“But I didn’t know I would get it at the _time_ …”

A server came and took away their finished plates. Both of them had dug in ravenously so there was hardly a crumb yet. Then Kiku asked for something strange. 

“Two cups of green tea, please,” he asked politely, “one plain and one with lemon juice.”

Alfred looked at him weirdly. “ _Green tea?”_

“Yes. It’s very healthy for you. I never have a meal without a cup.”

“Another trick from Yao?”

Kiku smiled. “Perhaps.”

Alfred had to admit he had his reservations about drinking something so green and watery. But, surprisingly, it didn’t taste half bad, with the sourness of his lemon juice countering the slight bitter edge. They sat back watching people pass, fingers curled around their individual cups. Alfred felt himself sighing with content.

“... You know,” he said, “I don’t remember a time I ever felt so relaxed. Especially before a competition.”

“Me too,” admitted Kiku. 

Alfred… wanted to say more. He wanted to say how tense he was going into the Cup of Canada. How terrified he was of messing up a simple jump again. How… amazing it felt to be in his presence, to receive tips from him, to know that… Maybe he was worthy of this second chance. 

But not a word passed his lips when his phone began to ring. Disgruntled, he pulled it out… What was Arthur doing calling him? 

“Sorry, Kiku,” he said, but Kiku didn’t seem to mind. The moment Alfred put that phone to his ear, Arthur’s nagging voice started up. 

“ _Where the bloody hell are you?!”_ He snapped. “ _I came into your room -- and you’re gone, completely gone!”_

“Wha-- I left you a note!” Alfred replied with a frown. 

“ _You mean the note saying “not been kidnapped, be right back”? How the hell is that useful to me?!”_

“It… er…” Alfred trailed off sheepishly. “I guess that doesn’t explain much.”

“ _Get back here, this instant,”_ Arthur ordered. 

“Why? I was just out for a run. My slot isn’t for _ages_ yet--”

_“Alfred, it’s press conference day!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wdym it's been a month and a half since i first updated this we all know time is an illusion in quarantine


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